Page 24 of Code Name: Harbor

“You’re not taking me somewhere to kill me, are you?” I quip, and I realize in that moment, that’s a pure joke on my part. For some odd reason, I feel safe with this man.

Finn laughs. “No, I’m not going to kill you, but if you let me, I might kiss you later.”

Another blush, but this one is less heated. I’m learning that this guy doesn’t keep his feelings or wants bottled up, and his flirting is straightforward and honest.

I actually like it.

“I usually never kiss on the first date.”

“Which implies you’re already thinking about our second one,” he says, sliding a glance my way as he pulls away from the curb.

“I’m unwilling to commit to that this early in the game,” I say with a laugh.

“Fair enough. I’m actually taking you to my boat for dinner.”

“Boat? The Quartermaster?”

Finn shakes his head as he checks his blind spot, moving into traffic. “No. That’s a fishing vessel. I’ve got another boat that I use for recreation. I keep it over at the Elliott Bay Marina.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” I say thoughtfully.

“And what’s that?”

“That water is in your blood. Boats, waterfront home… it’s all coming together.”

“You’re not wrong,” he says, settling one hand casually on the wheel. “I hope it’s okay. I probably should have asked first.”

“It’s fine and I’m intrigued.”

The Range Rover handles beautifully, and Finn drives confidently but not aggressively. It’s exactly how I would describe the man with what little I’ve come to know.

We drive west, the lights of downtown moving past on our left. “How long have you lived in Seattle?” I ask.

Finn’s head turns my way briefly. “Why do I feel you already know the answer to that?”

It’s true… I do. And he knows that because he knows I researched him. “Sorry… I do know a little about you. I know you were born in Portland and grew up there, but now you’re in Seattle.”

Finn nods, checks the left lane and pulls into it to go around a slower car. “I don’t know how deep your sources are on my criminal record, but I did some time in juvie when I was seventeen and when I got out, I came to Seattle and never left.”

“And what did you do when you came to Seattle?”

He looks at me again, long enough for his eyes to lock onto mine. “I did things that landed me in prison. I know you know that much.”

I nod. “But you turned it around, right?”

“I like to think so,” he says with a smirk.

“A fine art gallery owner. It’s impressive.”

“It pays the bills,” he replies.

“And what exactly does a gallery owner do on a daily basis?”

We chat about the intricacies of art intersecting with business, and it’s clear to me that he’s not overly passionate about the art itself. Finn seems to be all about the business of it, all bottom-line dollar and profit margins.

The conversation carries us all the way to Elliott Bay Marina with its long docks running out into the dark water and the Space Needle visible on the eastern horizon. Finn parks and comes around to my side, opening the door and holding out his hand to help me alight. I’m assaulted by the smell of salt water and the soft creak of dock lines as he walks me through the security gate.

The boats in this portion of the marina are for the serious yachters… the people who put money into their passion. I find my hand tucked back into the crook of his elbow as he leads me along a long dock, stopping at a slip about two-thirds of the way down.